The New Captain
by LadyRhiyana
Summary: Drabbles and ficlets regarding the first days of Kirk's captaincy. Ch 4: First Steps. Kirk and Spock talk over chess.
1. Ambition

**A/N – **My first venture into Star Trek. A little one-shot exploring Commander (soon to be Captain) Kirk.

**Disclaimer – **I don't own Star Trek, any of the canon characters, settings or situations. No money was made in the writing of this fic.

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**Ambition  
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Her name was _Enterprise_, and Kirk coveted her on sight.

She was a beautiful, sleek silver lady, the embodiment of endless dreams and possibilities, and the sight of her woke the restless hunger, the driving ambition that had seen him rise so swiftly through Starfleet's ranks. She was everything he'd ever wanted, since he'd first dreamed of the stars.

"Beautiful, isn't she, Commander?" A quiet, amused voice interrupted his reverie.

He turned to see Admiral Nogura, his narrowed black eyes watching Kirk with amusement.

"Yes, sir, she is," he answered, impassive, though he knew Nogura must have already seen the raw hunger written all over his face. Kirk had never made any secret of his ultimate ambition, but it never paid to be so easily read.

She's in space dock for extensive refitting," Nogura continued. "The Federation Council are talking about a five-year mission."

Kirk couldn't disguise the sudden flare of interest. "They've been talking of five-year missions for decades, sir," he replied. "Nothing ever comes of it."

"This time they're serious. The PR people are pushing the 'dream of stars', and the media are eating it up. Public interest in Starfleet has never been so high." Nogura allowed himself a mirthless smile. "And so Chris Pike receives a long overdue promotion to Fleet Captain, and the Admiralty find ourselves in need of a young, photogenic captain to spearhead the drive."

"Do you know of any such promising officers, Commander Kirk?"

Kirk glanced out the transparent aluminium view screen towards the _Enterprise_. He could almost hear the subliminal hum of her engines; feel the energy thrumming in his bones. He was barely thirty, he told himself. No one rose so high so quickly.

Nogura took pity on him. "Kirk. You're the best poker player I know, but in this matter you're damned transparent. There were a number of candidates mentioned, but yours was the one name that kept coming up. Wesley, Chenoweth, Garrett; they all spoke of you as the finest young leader they'd seen in decades."

Kirk stared at him, dazed. "Sir?"

"It's not yet been formalised, but in three months, _Enterprise_ will be the first starship sent out on Starfleet's five-year mission program. And you, _Captain _Kirk, will be in the centre seat."

Kirk had enough presence of mind not to break into a delighted grin. "Yes, sir!" he replied formally, his eyes glowing.

The smile Nogura bestowed on him was almost benevolent. "The formal announcement will be made at a press conference tomorrow morning," he said. "You will have three months to make what arrangements you see fit – and you'll need every minute of them, because soon enough you'll be at the centre of a media circus. I hope you're every bit as charming and charismatic as your reputation makes you out to be."

Kirk paid no heed to this last admonition. He would do whatever he had to, in order to gain the ultimate prize. His attention was all on the stars outside the view screen; on the great silver lady hanging before him, _his _now to take into unexplored space. An almost pleasurable thrill ran down his spine, the old feeling of awe and wonder that he had never lost.

The culmination of all his dreams and ambitions.

_Enterprise._


	2. Old Friends

**A/N** – Another short drabble, this one featuring Kirk and Mitchell.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Star Trek, any of the canon characters, settings or situations. Don't sue.

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**Old Friends**

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The Officer's Club on Spacedock was scarcely populated during the middle of the day. Furnished with comfortable chairs, quiet nooks for conversation, a glorious view of Earth against the black of space, and an excellent selection of drinks, it was a haven for off-duty officers. Jim Kirk had been here many times over the course of his career, and he knew most of the officers present; he returned their greetings and acknowledged their congratulations on his promotion, and went in search of his old friend, Gary Mitchell.

Gary was sitting at one of the tables near the transparent aluminium window, admiring the view. He turned as Kirk approached and rose to his feet, hand outstretched in greeting and welcome.

"Jim!" he said, as they sat down. "Or should I say, _Captain _Kirk. What'll you have to drink?"

Kirk ordered a Saurian brandy, and inputted his own code to pay. "I'm still getting used to the thought of it, Gary. I only found out myself yesterday."

"Well you'll get used to it soon enough. The _Enterprise _is a sweet ship, and I've no doubt you'll be an excellent captain – so long as you have an equally excellent navigator with you on the bridge."

Kirk laughed. "You are referring to yourself, of course."

"Of course." Gary grinned, and toasted Kirk with his own glass of Scotch. "Besides, who else is going to watch your back on away missions? You know how you always manage to find trouble."

"If you are referring to that incident on Dimorus –"

" – that, and any number of others like it."

"– Then there's no one I'd prefer to have by my side." Kirk's Saurian brandy arrived, and he took a small appreciative sip before toasting Gary in turn. "Gary Mitchell, chief navigator of the _Enterprise._"

Gary laughed. "I'll drink to that."

And they did.

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	3. First Impressions

A/N – An attempt at Spock's pov. Kirk arrives on the _Enterprise_.

Disclaimer – I don't own Star Trek, any of the canon characters, settings or concepts. No money was made in the writing of this fic.

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**First Impressions**

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The news that James Kirk had been appointed the new captain of the _Enterprise_ had not been unexpected. Rumours had circulated for weeks before the formal announcement; Starfleet was an organisation rife with speculation, and Spock had followed the developments following Captain Pike's promotion closely.

He had been – not concerned, but _interested. _It was clear that the Admiralty had chosen Kirk as much for his aesthetic appeal and his reputation as for his fitness to command; immediately following the announcement of his captaincy they had embarked on a program of high-profile media and public relations appearances. During the past months, Spock and the remaining crew who had not gone with Captain Pike or transferred off the ship had become all too familiar with the sight of their new captain and the long list of his commendations.

Even in an organisation as inured to the unknown as Starfleet, Kirk had a reputation for the improbable. Lieutenant-Commander Mitchell, their new navigator, had scoffed at the holo-media coverage, but had been all too happy to recount far-fetched "true" stories of his service with Kirk. If, Dr. Piper remarked dryly after one of Mitchell's retellings, their new Captain was even a tenth of the man his reputation made him out to be, they were in for an interesting five years.

Spock could only concur.

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The three months since the announcement of the five-year mission had passed in a blur of holo-cameras and cheering crowds. Kirk had thought himself more than willing to play Starfleet's golden captain if it meant the centre seat, but he soon found himself tiring of the endless rounds of interviews and photo shoots. He had more than his fair share of vanity and ego, but he was in danger of having his head turned by all the publicity.

Mitchell had taken great pleasure in ribbing him, sending him the airbrushed publicity stills and picking out particularly painful quotes. Finally, in the interests of sheer self-preservation, Kirk escaped from his Starfleet Press Corps minders and made his way to a quiet viewscreen overlooking his silver lady, waiting in spacedock for him to take possession.

He was aware that the quiet serenity was an illusion: inside, engineers and technicians would be crawling over every inch of her, refitting her for the unknown dangers of deep space; the first officer (_A Vulcan, Gary? In Starfleet?) _would be busy organising the thousand and one urgent tasks and details needed before departure. But it was an illusion that he needed, to remind himself once again of his true purpose.

_A tall ship, and a star to steer her by._

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Finally, the hour was at hand.

Spock could feel – if not understand – the excitement and anticipation of the crew, their determination to make a perfect showing for their new captain. He had been up for the last 36.27 hours finalising the last details before Captain Kirk's arrival, 'terrorising' (as Dr. Piper put it) the crew into making the ship immaculate. Ninety percent of his attention was fixed on the activity around him; the other ten percent was occupied with speculation regarding the new captain. He wondered how Kirk – by all accounts an active, hands-on commander, often bordering on recklessness – would affect the ship's dynamic. A captain had absolute power on his ship, and his whims and temper could affect the whole crew – it was to be hoped that the effect was positive rather than negative.

He slipped through the weaving crowds – although it was more accurate to say that they parted to allow him through, being familiar with his aversion to physical contact – and paused a moment outside the transporter room to straighten his dress tunic before heading in. Before the transporter console, the senior officers of the _Enterprise _gathered to welcome their new captain aboard: Commander Scott, in full Scottish regalia; Dr Piper, uncomfortable in full dress uniform; Lieutenant-Commander Mitchell, grinning confidently; Lieutenant Kelso, quietly competent.

The familiar whine of the transporter set his teeth on edge, before the beam shimmered, solidified, and revealed Captain James Kirk. The first impression Spock received was of vibrant energy, masculinity and determination and that indescribable force that humans called charisma, that had carried through so well in the countless interviews and photo shoots that accompanied the launch. The second impression was of intelligence, of discipline even – that incredible energy was banked by formidable will.

And then the bosun's whistle sounded, and Kirk stepped lightly off the transporter platform. His gaze swept swiftly over the assembled officers; he nodded to Mitchell, and then turned to Spock. "Permission to come aboard?" he asked, as though the question was more than a mere formality.

"Welcome aboard the _Enterprise, _Captain Kirk," Spock said, holding his hand up in the ta'al. "I am Spock."

"Mr. Spock," the captain repeated – and then smiled, the same slow, deliberate smile that had sent the holo-media into a frenzy of adoration. "I look forward to working with you."


	4. First Steps

**A/N** – Kirk and Spock talk over chess.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Star Trek, any of the canon characters, situations or settings. No money was made in the writing of this.

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**First Steps**

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It is late into the ship's night, but Kirk cannot sleep.

Restless, he drifts through the almost deserted corridors, trailing his fingertips along the bulkheads, imagining the ship's thrumming energy responding to his touch. He'd served on a number of starships during his career, most of them Constitution class, but _Enterprise_ is _his _ship; no longer an illusion or a cherished dream, but titanium-and-circuitry reality.

His ship. His crew. His responsibility.

Aimless, he heads into the main rec room, where the scattered crewmen do not quite jump to attention – starship crews are the elite of Starfleet, and discipline is less formal than ancient navies – but the atmosphere becomes subdued in acknowledgment of his presence.

This, he thinks, is the isolation of command.

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The senior officers' lounge is smaller, quieter. Like the crewmen in the rec room, the few occupants acknowledge his presence, but less obviously, with less constraint; he is grateful for it, and something in him eases.

He looks for Mitchell. Despite Gary's occasional jagged edges, despite his own competitiveness, their friendship has lasted more than ten years: Kirk wants a familiar companion now, someone who sees Jim Kirk, not the Captain. Instead he finds Spock, analysing a 3D chess puzzle over steepled fingertips.

"May I sit with you, Mr. Spock?" he asks, when he has made his way over to the dimly lit corner table. "I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

Spock's Vulcan reserve is formidable. Kirk's practiced smile has no visible effect on his first officer; most often his attempts to charm and beguile are met by stony indifference and deadpan logic.

"You are not interrupting, Captain," Spock answers. "I was merely contemplating Marduk's 47th Variation."

"Oh?" Kirk slides into the seat opposite him. "I didn't know there was a 47th variation. I've read his treatise on end games, of course... Are you fond of chess, Mr Spock?"

He is treated to a supercilious Vulcan eyebrow. "Vulcans are not 'fond' of anything, Captain."

"Of course not. Please forgive me."

"It is an exercise in logic and analytical thinking. The Vulcan Science Academy approves of its use for both educational and recreational purposes."

"Mm-hmm." Despite all his efforts, Kirk can't restrain a tiny smile. "And do you often get a chance to play on board?"

"Most of the time I play against the computer, Captain. I find the calibre of opponents on the _Enterprise_ to be..."

"Lacking? I imagine most of us poor humans would be, when measured against your Vulcan logic. Still, perhaps you and I should play, Mr. Spock. I am accounted a fairly decent opponent."

Spock gives him a long, assessing look. Kirk can almost see the logical gears turning behind his eyes. "I look forward to it, Captain."

They talk of many things over the chessboard.

They speak of their mission, exploration and discovery on the edges of unmapped space, pushing the boundaries of Vulcan knowledge and human imagination. They speak of the _Enterprise,_ Spock outlining the systems and processes that hold everything together. He speaks of the crew as a single organism neatly divided into stations and teams and departments, all reporting upwards to him as First Officer and ultimately to the Captain.

Kirk does not think of the crew in such clinical terms. He has served his time as First Officer, knows the processes and the systems; he also knows the intangible, unquantifiable value of morale, and the emotional, entirely illogical needs of individual humans.

Spock does not. Kirk hopes that this does not become a problem in the future.

Still, there is a strange ease in speaking to the Vulcan, who does not needle or challenge as Mitchell does. He is utterly, sometimes maddeningly literal; there are times when Kirk suspects that Spock is secretly laughing at him, but he simply can't be sure.

It is nothing at all like speaking to another human.

After two knock-down, drag-out, viciously contested games of chess (Spock playing with brutal, implacable logic, and Kirk with desperate irrationality and occasional flashes of brilliance) Kirk is sure of two things: matching wits with Spock is intriguing, challenging and downright exhausting, and behind his inscrutable facade, the Vulcan was, indeed, laughing at him.

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It is only later, as he staggers back to his bed, yawning and half-asleep, that Kirk realises that there had not been an ounce of constraint between them. After the initial fencing, they had spoken together like partners, like equals.

Like...friends.


End file.
